[Flashback] A Fine Line

[Cayenne]

Closed, Sthargon.
TS: Winter, 493 AV


The Dhani were a proud race. They exulted in their superiority over other races, knowing that their Mother-Goddess Siku had created them in Her image. As such, they strove to reach her ideals - to be cunning, merciless opponents who played the game to win. But not every harvest is perfect. There's always a throwback... and Dhani were no exceptions. Every member of the nest was expected to contribute. Weaklings were a waste of precious resources as well as a danger to the nest. A chain was only as strong as its weakest link. One incompetent fool was all it would take to break the chain.

Sometimes, the unsaid sentiment went, they were better off being thrown to the Myrians to lull them into a false sense of victory and triumph. That was always a benefit. And the warmongers that each and every one of the cannibalistic savages was, they celebrated while getting rid of the Dhani's rejects in victories that weren't victories at all, but were instead encouraged them into a state of complacency. It encouraged them to underestimate the Dhani while becoming overconfident in their own abilities.

It worked out nicely.

That is, it worked out until someone let emotions and friendships cloud their judgment about what was good for the nest and the sake of everyone inside of it, and actually voiced accusations about a useful, workable system that was better than allowing worms to pretend they were Constrictors. You got some righteousness from those that found every Dhani worth more alive than dead... even the weaker ones could be used for breeding. But why pass on weakness? To do so was to weaken the nest in the longer term, and it was in the longer term that they needed to focus on.

Sthargon had had plenty to think about since Hesse's humiliation. Hesse had been watching the western tunnel, only to be knocked out cold, ambushed by a few Myrians. The scouting party had slipped in, and was almost at the main cavern by the time they had been stopped. And, of course, two of four had gotten away - they had left in stages to make sure something got taken back to Taloba. Hesse, knowing that it was beyond likely he would be seeing Queen Snhamtanabis before the end of the night, had come to his elder brother, needing a rather desperate favour. He would do anything, he had said, that Sthargon wanted him to do to make him a better warrior.

Anything?

Anything.

That was why they were in the jungle now. Hess had already given the guards the slip, and had agreed to meet Sthargon by one of the far mikmik groves. But first, Sthargon had a meeting to attend to with some rather sworn enemies. One of them was waiting now, a rangy-looking male with his hair tied back in dreadlocks, arms folded across his chest, some wicked looking 'knives' (which were to daggers like a Constrictor was to a Viper), waiting on his belt. "Sthargon," the male Myrian nodded slightly in greeting, pushing himself off of the tree. He knew that this one, Ethgri. He'd done business with him before. He was big for a Myrian, with a tattoo of a cut throat across his neck amongst others over a burly frame, dressed in simple leathers that were a greenish brown in colour. Without his ability to see the man's body heat, Sthargon would never have known he was there without Ethgri announcing his presence. "What do you got for me?"

[Ashivirsthargon]

Sthargon strained the muscles in his tail to raise his body up as high as he could, causing him to tower over the Myrian by several feet. The darkness drained the colors from his scales, giving him the impression of hovering atop an amorphous tangle of reptilian darkness. Size and strength were the weapons of a Dhani that would crush a lone Myrian. It was good to remind Ethgri of where the balance of power lay in this meeting.

"Ethgri," he breathed. "I am glad you could ssslip away. I am ccertain you are being watched more carefully after last month'ss incccident, yess?"

The stoic Myrian grinned widely, revealing a range of broken, yellowed teeth. He mouth looked more like a shark's than a man's, and the comparison was appropriate on a number of levels.

"Ye twice-damned snake," he said. "When dey found all dose shields in my bags, I tought I would be executed for sure. Do you know what I told dem?"

"You were making a sssculpture to exxplore your rich artissstic side."

"No, I told dem I was strengt training. Dragging bags of shields around. Do you believe dat?"

A raspy, ragged hiss of a laugh knifed from Sthargon's throat.

"Well, dey didn't eiter, as it turns out, but what could dey do? I had bought de shields wit me own beads! Well, your beads, anyway. The trader vouched for me."

"Do not buy from that trader, again," Sthargon said. "The ssshieldss were not up to my ssstandardss. A ssstrong sspear thrusst would sssplit them."

"Ah, well, I do not always have de time for careful shopping. But I am not here to be making good friends. I brought money. What you bring?"

Sthargon took the man's measure carefully. He was dangerous, not only because of his combat prowess, not just because he had more experience in tough scrapes than most veteran warriors, but because he could be bought. That was always a two-edged sword. Tonight, Sthargon was about to make their business relationship have a bit more personal impact.

"I know many of your folk doubt your loyalty. Percceptive folk, Myrianss. But thiss doess not ssserve me well, ssaaahh. I need you and your men free to come and go without undue ssscrutiny. I alssso need money, which you have."

Ethgri nodded slowly. One did not engage in terrible risk without reaping some reward.

"Tonight, I will sssell you your honor. I will sssell you the worthlessss garbage that iss Myrian regard."

He extended a hand, making sure to keep the other firmly on the hilt of his scimitar.

"Tonight, I will sssell you your own blade."

An uncertain expression flickered across Ethgri's features. He looked askance at the Dhani.

"Dat... does not sound like a very good deal, Stargon."

"No? Well, then I offer an enhancccement. Your blade coated in Dhani blood and the hand of a fressh kill. Your kill. Sssinglehandedly. Or ssso you will sssay. Do we have a deal?"

[Cayenne]

"Deal," Ethgri decided, beginning to grin unpleasantly now that he understood exactly what Sthargon wanted. He could do that. And it would help throw suspicion off of him at the same time. Bringing in a Dhani was always something that could help boost your reputation, after all, and for a male Myrian... that was even better. The Dhani could be a tough enemy. This would be interesting. Yet he was wary, and rightfully so. What was to say that the Dhani, having decided Ethgri had outlived his usefulness, wasn't leading him into a trap?

The pair of them had a working relationship that involved betrayal and money on every front. Sthargon needed contacts, if he expected to somehow survive outside of Zinrah in the jungles of Falyndar, and Ethgri... well, Ethgri lived dangerously. Besides, he usually cleared a very tidy profit in numerous ways from his workings with the snake. Some Myrians had no problem playing both sides. The way they saw it, it wasn't like the Dhani, whose population was barely a fraction of theirs, had any chance of systematically annihilating the cannibalistic Myrians. The peace brokered by Caiyha would crack and crumble before that would be allowed to happen.

"Lead the way." the Myrian pushed himself off of the tree, tossing Sthargon a small leather bag. Half up front, half upon delivery, as the terms of their deals always were. "How do you want it done?" Quick and clean, or mangled and dirty? He didn't care to ask who it was, or why, for that matter, Sthargon wanted him dead - stories could be made up of that. A powerful warrior, or maybe some spin on that... why question it? Sometimes Lhex just dropped a bounty into your hands, after all. Either way, he was paying to stain his own blades with Dhani blood. Neither would leave empty handed.

[Ashivirsthargon]

Sthargon flexed his coils in the gathering darkness, enhancing the impression that he was some jungle demon, called to this place by forces ancient and dark. Although he did not hope he could breed true fear in Ethgri - they knew each other too well, and the man was all steel inside, even for a Myrian - the Myrians were a superstitious lot, and it worked to his advantage to make the much smaller man feel as though the jungle belonged to Sthargon, while he was an interloper. For a moment, Sthargon dared to dream they might all feel that way.

"No, thiss time musst be different. I musst go alone. The ground where I do thiss will be hallowed to Sssiku, ssaaahh, and I will not have unclean flesh tread there. Nor, do I think, it would be in your besst interessst. I will return here with both the blade and the hand."

Ethgri would not like this. A man like him was always paranoid about such business dealings, and even slight variations seemed to make him skittish. It was funny, mused Sthargon, that the man did not flinch at a Dhani, but the thought of his commerce being disrupted put him to flight.

He would have to do something to absorb the risk, or he might as well just forget about the money.

"You may hold on to all the money until I return. I will take no part of it with me. You will only exchange the money for the goodsss. Saah. Only when you have what you want, yesss?"

Sthargon scanned the trees and underbrush. He did not sense anyone else, near, but some Myrians were tricky with cloaking their body heat and rather dramatic body odors. He hoped it was occuring to Ethgri that he was getting a good deal - that there was nothing stopping Sthargon from simply killing him where he stood and taking his money. But perhaps there was more here that met the eye or the tongue. You simply couldn't trust anyone.

He waited for Ethgri's response, but he knew his job would be the same either way. Whether Ethgri agreed to the terms or balked, duty was tugging him to the mikmik groves.

[Cayenne]

Ethgri appraised Sthargon, watching the serpent. Nature had been here since time immemorial. Nature would never die in the tropical, suffocating jungle. Those who lived in it may come and go, but around them, Caiyha's handiwork would stay. But, the Myrian had to remind himself, the Dhani were not natural. They came from snakes, yes, and from Caiyha's thrice-cursed daughter Siku. That, of course, made all the difference.

Ethgri didn't mind hanging onto the bikka until Dhani returned with the goods. He considered, eyes narrowing slightly as he tilted his head up slightly to eye the Constrictor through hooded eyes. A hand only? "The head," he knew he was probably pushing his luck, here, but he'd certainly try. His people tended to want more proof than a hand. "I need more than a bloody blade and a hand... you be knowin' that. The head or both forearms, hands included," he pulled out one of his wicked-looking knives, keeping the others, and tossed it to the Dhani. He could wait through the night, if need to be.

--

Hesse was waiting for Sthargon in the mikmik grove where they had agreed to meet. He was hiding as a snake between the trees, having blended in well with his mottled colours of browns and greens. Sthargon would be able to find him, though. The faint hissing and the length of camouflaged body hidden amongst the tangled bases of the trees still stood out, if however slightly - the heat generated by the Dhani was enough to mark his presence. Hesse spotted him, then, going from snake to Dhani, lengthening, thickening, and spreading and stretching his arms. He was scrawnier than his older brother, and covered in a number of scars from battles fought messily and won only at cost. "I am ready," he told his older brother simply, almost plaintively. "Teach me what you will."

The fact that the Myrians had gotten in and out, and incapacitated him to boot was not merely humbling - it was downright humiliating. Tanabis would have his head and hide to adorn her lair for this failure of massive proportions. She would skin him while he writhed until he begged for death to take him. Like their Mother-Goddess... the Queen did not grant mercy to the weak.

[Ashivirsthargon]

"Damnable human," thought Sthargon. "Dictating terms at me like I was his dog. What amount of money could be worth this? When the day comes when we drive these murderers into the sea, I will pay him what he deserves."

When he was far enough away from Ethgri, he began the transformation into humanoid form. His limbs were swallowed up by his increasingly amorphous body. Joints, flesh, and muscle were moved throughout his system like logs in a river, repositioning, realigning, and rejoining in their new locations. He always loved the feeling, but today, he was in little mood for cheer.

He completed his transformation and made his way through the jungle. He was as careful as he could be. It was unlikely he would run across a Myrian patrol at this location at this hour, but you never knew. It was never safe outside of Zinrah's borders, no matter what, and a Dhani who lost their sense of self-preservation was a dead Dhani once they stepped outside.

He noticed Hesse when he was still several meters away. To Hesse's credit, he had tried to hide himself, and any untrained eye probably would have passed him over. Unfortunately, the Myrians had rid the jungle long ago of any "untrained eyes" of any other races, and most but the greenest scout would have spotted him. In fairness, Sthargon was no master of stealth, himself, but there were other things to consider, tonight.

Hesse apparently heard him or smelled him or something, because he looked in Sthargon's direction and began to shift into his Dhani form. Sthargon continued to close the distance between them. Ethgri's knife felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Conflict raged within Sthargon. It was not for anything as pathetic as fraternal love. In an extended family that values few familial virtues, one does not become especially close to one's family by default, and truth be told, there was very little about Hesse that would coax Sthargon into becoming close to him at all.

He did wonder, however, if he were doing the right thing. Clearly, Hesse was willing to be trained. What if he could be turned around? Should he not try that road, first? Perhaps he did not love Hesse, but still, one did not join a common struggle for a hundred years and develop no level of bond at all.

And even among his people, killing one of your own - especially of your own family - would certainly be looked down on at the very least. The odds were good the Queen would mete out some punishment whether she understood his actions or not. One simply could not commit murder among one's own when your own race stood on the brink of extinction - especially a male who might provide more offspring.

More offspring.

More weak, ineffectual offspring. More guards overpowered by Myrian forces. More raiding partners who could not hold their side of the line. More Dhani bodies to be paraded victoriously through the streets of Taloba while the self-proclaimed rulers of Falyndar mocked and laughed, knowing it was only a matter of time before their racial cleansing of the land was complete.

In that moment, a cold clarity broke through the grey haze of his conflicting emotions - a clear blade that knifed through his misgivings like a pure shaft of light from the moon, above:

He would keep Zinrah safe, and he would betray his own brother to do it, even if Zinrah itself did not understand.

Hesse greeted him and expressed his willingness to begin. He was so trusting. So vulnerable. It made Sthargon queasy.

"Ah, Hesse," he thought. "If only you'd had the backbone to defy me. If only you'd tried to beat me down for my insult in assuming I could train you. If only you had done something to show that you were strong and unafraid. That you were as cold as steel. I look into your eyes and I see only the pleading look that would soon come at the point of a Myrian spear. Perhaps in whatever world awaits you, you will thank me for this. I do not think many others shall."

Sthargon nodded to his brother and took a defensive stance.

"I have assumed a human form to make it seem more like fighting a Myrian. Obviously, I am still larger and stronger than they and far less craven, but it will suffice. I am armed with a short hunting blade, much like theirs."

He took a deep breath in preparation for the lie that was to come. He hoped Hesse was just desperate enough not to think very critically about his instruction.

"When your opponent is armed with a short weapon, the ideal tactic is to try for a grapple. A constricted opponent is helpless in our grasp; you know this, yes?

"The human center of gravity can be moved if you..."

He licked his lips.

"...if you shoot in for my hips or, if you cannot reach them, my ankles. Hit me as low as you can. In a grappling situation, the lowest man typically wins."

Sthargon held the blade in an inarticulate reverse-grip, as if he were going to carve his name into a tree. He was not much of a knife fighter, but his plan involved very little technique whatsoever.

He took a long look at his brother. He memorized the way his Dhani form was framed in the fading night - his way of moving, his expressions, the way he smelled, the signature of his heat - everything stored away for safe keeping. But there was no wavering in his heart. There was only the cold resolve of doing whatever was necessary to survive.

"Now, you try," he said.